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The errand of a window seems always to have been that of beauty, although it has more than one way of performing that service. Sometimes it seems to have chosen the inspiring manner of recalling ancient wars, as would appear from the “Dreme” of Chaucer:

“And sooth to sayn, my chamber was

Full well depainted, and with glass

Were all the windows well y-glazed

Full clear, and not an hole y-crazed,

That to behold it was great joy:

For wholly all the story of Troy

Was in the glazing y-wrought thus,

Of Hector, and of King Priamus;

Of Achilles, and of King Laomedon,

And eke of Medea, and of Jason;

Of Paris, Helen, and of Lavine.”

Sometimes the errand is that of beauty alone, so “mystic, wonderful,” as to make it seem that magic was invoked to yield so fair a result. In his “Earthly Paradise” Morris voices this feeling:

“Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmastide such wondrous things did show,

That through one window men beheld the spring,

And through another saw the summer glow,

And through a third the fruited vines a-row,

While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,

Piped the drear wind of that December day.”

Again, the errand of the window may have been not so much that of a story-teller, nor of a beautiful object to regale one’s eyes withal, but rather to tint and temper the illumination of some holy place like that described in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel” (Canto XI.):

“The silver light, so pale and faint,

Show’d many a prophet and many a saint,

Whose image on the glass was dyed;

Full in the midst, his Cross of Red

Triumphant Michael brandished,

And trampled the Apostate’s pride.

The moonbeam kissed the holy pane,

And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.”

Beyond the enjoyment and artistic refreshment to be obtained from the contemplation of stained glass, who shall say that we do not receive other benefits, the nature of which are as yet undiscovered? It is only recently that our learned brothers, the scientists, have acquainted us with the helpful qualities of those rays of light which, in the language of the spectrum, are “out beyond the violet.” In this connection, it may be edifying to quote from the “Anecdotes and Traditions” of Aubrey: “The curious oriental reds, yellows, blews, and greens in glasse-painting, especially when the sun shines, doe much refresh the spirits. After this manner did Dr. R. revive the spirits of a poor distracted gentleman, for whereas his former physitian shutt up his windows and kept him in utter darknesse, he did open his window lids, and let in the light, and filled his windows with glasses of curious tinctures, which the distempered person would always be looking on, and it did conduce to the quieting of his disturbed spirits.” (Aubrey in “Anecdotes and Traditions,” edited for the Camden Society by W. J. Thomas, p. 96.)

Nor is this the only terra incognita still awaiting exploration. During some recent French experiments wide differences have been observed in the same kind of vegetable when grown under differently coloured glass covers. However, these are matters that will not be “dreamed of in our philosophy”—our investigations will be confined to a geographical search for that with which to delight our eyes.

When one pauses to consider how fragile the beauty of a stained glass window, it becomes amazing that even so much as we can now visit has survived. Over every European country there has, at one time or another, swept a wave of destruction engulfing things artistic. The causes for, as well as the agents of, this iconoclasm, differ widely. Sometimes it comes from within, and is the result of civil war or of religious fanaticism—less often it is the result of foreign invasion.

English windows had the good fortune to escape the destruction by foreigners which the French had to suffer during those dreadful fourteenth and fifteenth centuries when the Hundred Years’ War outlasted its title, and when the hot-headed Plantagenet kings kept France continually plagued with English soldiery. Although we must record this particular immunity, other agencies equally baleful were at work. The Puritans made a practice of smashing stained glass, either because they regarded it as one of the hated insignia of popery (some of their ministers even knocking out the glass in churches under their own charge, like “Blue Dick” Culmer at Canterbury Cathedral), or for reasons of revenge, as in the case of the troops infuriated by the death of their leader in the assault upon Lichfield. Dwellers within the precincts of Lincoln made a common practice of shooting with crossbows at the windows! At Great Malvern the possible excuse of crossbow practice is missing; the villagers quite simply amused themselves by throwing stones at the great east window, just from the sheer joy of destruction. In some instances, even the mitigating circumstances of religious fanaticism, revenge, competitive sport, or even amusement are entirely lacking. Aubrey tells us in his “History of Surrey,” that “At a later date, one Blesse was hired for half-a-crown a day to break the painted glass windows of Croydon.” Little wonder is it that the citizens of York should have voted Fairfax, the leader of the Roundheads, a tun of wine, &c., in reward for his protecting care of the cathedral after he and his soldiers had captured that city.

In an earlier book (“Stained Glass Tours in France”) we observed that French windows divided themselves into periods which were practically coterminous with the centuries, thus enabling us to designate the styles by their century number. In England the development of this craft brought about the style-changes at irregular dates; but here also the steps of this development are so marked as to separate it into distinct epochs. English glass follows its architecture so closely that one cannot do better than to accept the period-designation of the latter, and especially is this true during the so-called Decorated and Perpendicular epochs. For our purpose we will therefore use the following sub-divisions: Early English, which will include all the glass prior to 1280; Decorated, 1280 to 1380; Perpendicular, 1380 to 1500; Renaissance (sometimes styled sixteenth century or Cinque Cento), 1500 to 1550. There are extremely few examples of the first and of the last schools, in marked contrast to the great wealth in France of windows contemporary thereto. Edward I. came to the throne in 1272, and it was during his reign that the Decorated period began, running through the reigns of Edward II. (1307), Edward III. (1327), and Richard II. (1377)—all of them Plantagenets. This and the succeeding period produced very little glass anywhere in France, because of the Hundred Years’ War, begun 1337, lasting until 1447, and waged throughout the length and breadth of the land. The exact opposite is true in England, where during the Decorated and Perpendicular epochs it reached its greatest importance and beauty. The Perpendicular period begins in 1380, shortly before Richard II., the last of the Plantagenets, was succeeded by the representatives of the rival Houses of Lancaster and York, three Lancastrians, Henry IV., V., and VI. (1399), (1413), (1422), being succeeded by three Yorkists, Edward IV. (1461), Edward V. (1483), and Richard III. (1483). This Perpendicular period came to an end at just about the same time as that tremendous civil struggle, the War of the Roses, was concluded by the accession of the House of Tudor, in the person of Henry VII. (1485). Our Renaissance glass period begins under him and lasts on through practically all the reigns of the House of Tudor—Henry VIII. (1509), Edward VI. (1547), Mary (1553), Elizabeth (1558). At the time that the Tudors were succeeded by the Stuarts (James I., 1603), there was hardly any English glass being manufactured, save a little for domestic use, although many Dutch glaziers were then active in this country, as we shall regretfully observe when we visit Oxford and Cambridge.

It is clear from many an entry in ancient English church archives that French glaziers were often in the early days summoned across the Channel, and that it is to them that we owe the beginning of English glass; but we shall see that although it owes its origin to this foreign assistance, it developed along distinctly original lines, and that therefore the English glaziers deserve full credit for the charming traits peculiar to them.

Although the period styled Early English has left comparatively few examples north of the Channel, and cannot hope to vie with the many and rich displays of mosaic glass to be seen in France, we shall be greatly consoled by the splendid grisaille (or uncoloured glazing) that fills the “Five Sisters” at York, and by the remains of the great series at Salisbury. We have just referred to the scarcity of French stained glass during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, those sorry days during which the English occupation of a large part of the country, repeated plagues, and uprisings of the lower classes against the nobles (like the Jacquerie), vied with each other in the work of devastation. Indeed, it is not strange that any art so dependent upon the fostering care of a luxury-loving class should have been entirely superseded by the sterner requirements of self-defence, to say nothing of the repairs necessitated by the ravages of war, pestilence, and famine. Those two centuries, so dreadful to France and so discouraging to French glaziers, produced in England the greatest flowers of this craft. It is, therefore, clear that if one wishes to obtain a comprehensively consecutive knowledge of stained glass on both sides of the Channel, he must leave France and cross over to England when the thread of his studies has obtained so far as the Decorated and the Perpendicular. When, however, he reaches the sixteenth century he must return to France, to revel in the wealth of Renaissance glass so wofully lacking in England.

After one has observed a sufficient number of windows to provide a basis for comparisons, it becomes easy to tell not only the epoch to which they belong, but also, in most instances, whether they are early or late in that epoch. In England one is assisted by an unusual amount of reliable information from two sources, viz., old records and heraldic indications from the coats of arms which are so often displayed. There is so little sixteenth century glass in this country as to give but small opportunity to observe the characteristic Renaissance custom of placing the dates on the picture itself, which was then common in France. Of earlier windows, however, English records and a knowledge of heraldry give us the dates of many more than are obtainable for their contemporaries in France. By way of example, the original contracts date the glass at Beauchamp Chapel, Warwick, 1447; at King’s College, Cambridge, 1527; at York, in the nave, 1338, and in the choir, 1405, &c. A comparative and historical study of their heraldic blazons gives us a date for many of the windows at Bristol and at Wells, and of more still in private houses.

The duty of the glazier was to adorn the window embrasures constructed for him by the architect, and thus assist in the decoration of the church. It is obvious that the size and shape of these apertures must necessarily have had considerable, if not controlling, effect upon the styles and methods of the glazier. A glance at the conformation of these openings often tells the sub-divisions in which its glass belongs. During Norman times the window arch was round and the opening wide. In the Early English style the arch at the top becomes pointed and the embrasures narrower. When the Decorated time arrives several narrow lights are grouped together, separated only by slender stone mullions, and culminating under the pointed arch at the top in a group of gracefully adjusted small apertures called tracery lights. The Perpendicular architect did little but straighten out the lines of his predecessors, especially in the traceries, so that they, as well as the mullions, should produce the effect of upright parallels which gave this type its name. In the sixteenth century the Renaissance architect provided large windows, and the glazier filled them with great pictures of splendid colour.

In our investigation of English glass of the Early English (or mosaic) period, we shall often find ourselves regretting the almost entire absence of rose windows, so frequent and splendid across the Channel, where those great blossoms of Gothic architecture provided such glorious opportunities for the decorating hand of the glazier. For this lack we shall later on find ample compensation (especially during Decorated and Perpendicular times) in the huge sheet of glass filling the great east window of many English churches. While the southern architect decided in favour of the rounded apse for the east end of his cathedrals, his northern neighbour preferred a square ended one, thus permitting a fine broad embrasure, broken only by narrow mullions, and providing a golden chance for the glazier, which he lost no time in seizing. Therefore, if we miss the innumerable rose windows of France, it is but fair to state that it possesses nothing that can vie with the great expanse of glowing colour found at the east end of York or Gloucester or Malvern.

It is clear that the glass artist, whatever his nationality, had at all times to take heed of the architecture which provided the setting for his glass, and which his work was to help decorate. It is but natural, therefore, that his designs should have been influenced by the prevailing architectural style, and this was particularly true in England during the prevalence of both the Decorated and the Perpendicular schools. When the time arrived to change from the mosaic method of constructing stained glass, the whole effort of the Englishman seemed to have been devoted to making his new product conform to the new Decorated style of building. Not so his neighbour across the Channel, for there everything was then being sacrificed to the demand for better lighted interiors, even to the extent of filling much of his embrasures with grisaille, and using deep colour only in the borders or in bands of canopy-framed figures across parts of the windows (Sées, Evreux). The need for more illumination did not exist in England, for in that land of cloudy skies and infrequent sunshine they had already realised how greatly mosaic medallion glass obscured the light, and, therefore, had early struck out for themselves, and developed an admirable use of grisaille, as one may see at York and Salisbury. They had already solved the problem of better illumination, and were that much ahead of their French neighbours. In France, because of light-admitting grisaille then demanded (either alone or in conjunction with the early canopies), the fourteenth century window gives a lighter effect than when later on, in the fifteenth century, the artist dispensed with the grisaille, enlarged his canopy completely to fill its lancet, and, thanks to the development of coated glass—i.e., several layers of different colours permitting, in combination, a wide range of hues—introduced more varied and richer colouring in both figures and costumes. In England, however, where light-admitting grisaille had already been freely used during the mosaic period, and the glazier began the fourteenth century untrammelled by any sudden demand for brilliant illumination, we shall easily observe a tendency directly contrary to that just remarked in France. The English Decorated windows are much deeper in tone than the Perpendicular ones which followed them. These latter seemed to have proved a satisfactory solution of the lighting problem for the English climate. Indeed, we shall see some at St. Neot, manufactured as late as 1530, that are copied after others of the preceding century, and yet the later ones are obviously from the hand of an artist so skilful as to have readily worked in the contemporary Renaissance manner, had he not deliberately preferred the earlier one.

Those who desire to study this subject seriously should read Lewis F. Day’s excellent “Windows of Stained Glass” (1897).